The Game of Life

I’ve been thinking a lot about life the past few days and weeks. What it means. What our purpose is here.

As I sit here praying and hoping for the best for the sick parents of two friends, I think about what an honor it is to be gifted with life. Out of millions of people and an infinite number of DNA combinations that could have been pieced together, each of us was perfectly, lovingly and wonderfully designed by the masterful hands of a great Creator God. Where we are, who we are, when we are, are all His doing.

There is a call, I think, to strive to be more than we are comfortable with being. Our lives are so short here – a mere breath in the scope of time. Deep down we all know this to be true. I think it’s the reason why we all have this innate desire to want to “make a name” for ourselves. We will toil and work endlessly, sacrifice relationships and rest, and all for what? So we can show how much we’re worth? The car you drive, the clothes you wear, the achievements and accolade, it’s all bunk. When we are gone, no one will remember you as the cool guy with the awesome sports car, or that girl with the perfect skin whom all the boys fell head over feet for. In the end, all that will remain of us is our character and how well we lived.

When I am long gone, I don’t want it said of me that I had pretty hair or that I dressed/sang/wrote/cooked well. I hope that people will remember my actions, the way I loved, the way I served.

God has placed us here, each of us, to be His hands and feet -- His heart pouring out for a broken, suffering world. It’s a high calling, and we will fail (alone), that is a given.

It isn’t easy at all to be this… even for people like me. People gifted (or cursed) with “bleeding hearts” as AllieDearest would like to say. There are days I’d rather do what I want without regard for those around me, days I’d rather treat myself well than sacrifice for another, days I’d rather be cold and selfish especially when people hurt me, days when my sinful heart gets the best of me and shows an ugliness that I cannot bear or control. But, I am learning that in being obedient, in doing as He desires, in (trying to) love as He does, in practicing forgiveness (even when it hurts to), my heart changes… hopefully. In time it warms, becomes more malleable and eventually fits a little more snuggly into the mold He originally designed for me. The one I was always intended to fit, but was too cold, too stubborn and unyielding to want to be squeezed into.

I was (am) a square peg when I was intended to be a round one.

We all are.

Life and Death and Everything in Between / Vagabondage

The Meaning of Life: The Great Debate (This One's Not)
There is a sudden urge to think of deeper things tonight.

It's still Monday as I type this, but just barely. My mind is sluggish as I've been fighting the pull to nap and sleep in fear of waking up before the dawn (again). As I recline here on my bed furnished by my very generous roommate and as I fight the desire to go out and buy more cute summer dresses (a first for me) and sandals I can't afford right now, I think about death and life and everything in between. There is a sadness stirring up. It's a sigh deep within me.

I think about the friends and family I left behind in Philadelphia, about security and creature comforts. I feel for my uncle and his family as they grieve the loss of his mother last Sunday, just short of a year after his father's passing. Wishing I were nearer. Wishing I could be there for my cousins. But, I am here in Nashville, almost 900 miles and 3.5 states away.

And, oddly, in thinking about transient and eternal things, of life and love and sickness and health, I think about the footprints we leave -- about the trace shadows and whispers of ourselves that echo in the souls of the people we touch. I think about all that we leave behind -- the fragments of self we are so stingy to dole out in the craze of schedules and appointments, of deadlines and dreams. And, I wonder if people will see me when I leave or the One in whose shadow I so drunkenly and crookedly stumble to follow.


Life as a Vagabond
I've been thinking a lot about the word home. I never quite felt at home in Philly and am definitely not feeling that here in Nashville. I fee like a vagabond most days -- wandering about the day, filling up time and space. Directionless. Lost. Bewildered. Alone.

Just last week JWoo asked how I was feeling about my move here. She wasn't the first to ask that week as I had a few others checking in on me as well. As I told her how settling in was proving to be slower and more difficult than I'd imagined, she asked if there was somewhere else I needed/wanted to be, if possibly another move was in order. The only response I could give was a shrug and an "I have absolutely no idea!" But, the more I ponder that, the more I realize like AnnieP shared last month at Bible study, I will never feel at home here. Perhaps I'm not meant to? Perhaps this constant uneasiness that I'm able to suppress most days was birthed from a deep longing and need inside me? Maybe this unyielding ache is my soul's beacon (beckoning) for the God who breathed life into it? A tracking signal for the One who already knows me, has already found me, and who never lost me in the first place?

I wonder how to remain present when all I can think of is the future and what it has/doesn't have in store. I wonder which of these friendships and ties will break and wither as I begin to feel the pain and hear the tearing and fraying of the ropes that bind us/me together. I wonder at my calling and purpose in life, about job security and benefits and all those things "entitled" to me. I long for something permanent, but am living day-by-day in the temporal. It's as if I'm staring into the face of an ominous black cloud and shaking in confusion.

I'm hoping in time I'll realize (and remember) that I'm not going head-to-head with some mysterious smoke monster, but simply walking in the cool shade of my Father's shadow.